not an arbiter of taste

September 2004

Wednesday, September 29, 2004

It is absolutely crazy that I go to L'Arpège much more often than I do the French Laundry—was there again just last week in fact—in spite of the former being in Paris and the latter being practically in my own backyard. Planning long enough in advance to go to the French Laundry had been unattainable with my crazy schedule—you do believe me about my crazy schedule, don't you?—so it had been two years since the previous time I was there.

Well, I finally managed a meal there last Sunday, and not just any meal, but a marvelous Sunday lunch as a guest of my dear friends Lizzie and John (you remember Lizzie and John?). They are very old friends of the house and we were treated accordingly. Everyone, including the chef Thomas Keller, dropped by to say hello. Service at the French Laundry has always been impeccable, it was difficult to imagine how they would do any better than they normally would. But boy oh boy, was I ever wrong? Let me tell you, I simply have not seen anything like it, seriously, definitely not in this country, and not even in France.

I went with my friend Dave, a replacement date after my original date flaked out. Yes, I heard something about a brain dysfunction—why else would anyone flake on the French Laundry? Well, I ended up driving up from the city to Dave and Ally's house in Napa, and from there, our designated driver Ally took us to the restaurant. How sweet is that Ally?

It was a beautiful Sunday, even in the state of hangover-induced stupor from my birthday bash the previous night, I still found it beautiful. The building that housed the French Laundry was just as pretty as ever, hidden on a leafy and tranquil part of the main street that ran through downtown of the gourmandise paradise that is tiny Yountville. Dave and I were a few minutes late, finding Liz and John already seated and sipping champagne at table, in the cozy alcove bathed in sky light in the soothing downstairs room.

Soothing is always a great descriptor for the French Laundry. Even as we were led through the many courses, many bottles, and indeed many hours meal, nothing ever felt harried or rushed. The atmosphere was ever calm and soothing, the food stunningly simple in its glorious complexity, and the service inconspicuously attentive. Soothing is indeed a good word.

I have been a few times before, but nothing in my previous experience has prepared me for this visit as a guest of Liz and John, who are so universally loved by all at the restaurant. As we sat down, our champagne glasses were magically filled with delightful Gimmonet MV, a refreshing start for our long journey into the heart of this temple of gastronomy.

Sunday, September 26, 2004

Last night capped what turned out to be a very long birthday celebration, which got its start with a toast to my birthday at practically every dinner I was at last week in Paris, then to London for a party thrown by V at the Tayyab, with our dear Fahro brilliantly managing our food intake as usual, and with a special cake and an even better tart made by John and his darling sous chef David, then to yet another night out at St.John with five other friends for some serious Bath Chaps and Grouse eating. (more on the meals later)

Then the big night, last night, with a huge party thrown by Malik, Ally, and Dave, who started the night's round of celebration with a dinner at Bacco, with a bottle of my birthyear wine courtesy of Dave and Ally. Then we were off to Bliss, a bar just down the street where Malik had arranged to have enough space for 40 of my best friends to party to our collective heart's content. It was indeed fun, and yes, with a slightly unnerving element of worlds colliding--but fun none the less.

These parties are the best kind, you know, the kind where you just show up without having done anything and be the center of attention--not that my ego needed any help, mind you. My friends are just the best. Although I must say leaving all the details to everyone else was a little difficult for miss-perfectionist-me, so I kept asking where was this, when are we going here and there, who's picking up what, and on and on, to which Malik had one standard response: Whose birthday party is this? (mine), then who's going to worry about the logistics, (not me). My friends really are the best.

The party finished with a bunch of hardcore friends who ended up with me at Pink, our favorite local club to do some serious dancing to funky house music, then finally, to bed.....actually to Malik's couch, just a few blocks from Pink, never even made it home at all. And this morning I was this Sunday morning girl in a little black dress and spiky heels who obviously never made it home last night, taking the walk of shame to my car amongst the healthy set out on an early run around Dolores Park. Got in the car, only to find that I was out of gas, so yes, the girl in a little black dress who never made it home last night got to fill her car up at a gas station on a busy corner in the Mission, for even more of the world to see....

And now, here I am, barely awake, with an enormous hangover, but, amazingly enough, blogging! I'm off in just a bit to the French Laundry for a lunch with Lizzie and John--no no not in the little black dress anymore.

Frankly I'm not entirely sure how to stay awake through the many many courses at the French Laundry. But hey, it's for my birthday!!

Tuesday, September 21, 2004

The moral of this story is, don't mess with Pim, especially when she's hungry!

I just got back to the hotel from a crazy late afternoon at Le Bon Marché shopping for clothes and shoes and food and food and food—in the span of less than three hours I became a proud owner of a myriad of paper and plastic bags, yes, for clothes and shoes and food and food.

Hungry, tired and in a hurry not to be late for dinner with Maurice and Pierre, I decided to take a taxi instead of the metro. I went to the taxi stand at the corner just outside the store to wait for one. I was at the head of the line, then a group of timid Japanese girls behind me, then a very properly dressed French couple in their early 50's, the man in his sport jacket and fancy shoes, and the lady carrying a Monogram Vernis Louis Vuitton bag. As usual in Paris, we waited for a long time, still no taxi.

Finally one came, but from the other side of the corner from where we were waiting. The Frenchman waived, the taxi slowed down to a stop at the corner and motioned toward my general direction to come to him. I started gathering my bags, but before I could finish the French couple was already at the door, the man politely holding it, letting his wife into the cab.

I ran up to them and said, excuse me, I was ahead of you in the line. The man answered, yes but this was not the queue, the queue was over there on the other street—but the other street was just 10 yard away!! How rude!! I was about ready to give up and walk away, when he turned to speak to his wife, could you believe she wanted to take our taxi, he said incredulously. His wife was mumbling in agreement as she entered the cab, with him still holding the door. Damn this, I thought, then turned around and got into the taxi with the woman.

Your place first or mine? I asked, deadpan. The wife scrambled out the other door before I could say anything else. I've never seen anyone move that fast, especially in those spiky Louboutin heels. The man was still holding the door, frozen in disbelief, so the cab driver, who had been listening with amusement to this whole conversation, told him very politely to please close the door so we could go. As we were pulling away, he turned to me and said, bravo mademoiselle. I was smiling all the way to the hotel.

P.S. You know, before people accuse me of calling the French rude, I must say that I don't find them rude at all in general. I am in Paris all the time, and I haven't found the Parisians any ruder than anyone else in any other big cities in the world. I think this was more a case of rich people thinking they could get away with anything. Oh well, that will learn them!

Still in Paris, but having too much fun, both at work and at play in fact, to blog. Not that blogging is not fun, just not as much. ;-)

Eating in Paris this time has been hit and miss so far, with tea at Mariage, dinners at Le Meurice, Le Repaire de Cartouche, La Grande Rue, Flora (with the fab Clotilde), Les 4 Frères and lunches at L'Arpège, the canteen, and a pique nique with stuff from Le Grande Epicerie and dessert from Pierre Hermé--not to mention many a drunken evening at the Hemingway--oh yes and the usual encounter with The Muffin Man at the marché bio on blvd Raspail. Yes yes I do know the Muffin Man!! Considering I got here last Thursday this was not so bad, no?

I'll probably eventually blog about them all. But for now I will leave you with some pictures from my friend Pierre's window at his flat on Quai de Grenelle, where we had our apéritif before dinner my first night in Paris. If I lived in a place like that I would sit by the window and do nothing but stare out of it all day.

Saturday, September 18, 2004

I am really having far too much fun in Paris. I arrived early enough on Thursday to have a splendid day walking all the way from Montparnasse over to the Marais for some lovely tea at Mariage Frères in the company of the incomparable Maurice. Then we went to Pierre's house to have a little apéritif and afterwards a dinner at Le Repaire de Cartouche. Despite starting the meal at "American time" (read: early enough so I could wake up to catch my 7am train to Renne), we had far too much fun chatting that we didn't leave the restaurant until past 11pm!

Then Friday started out with two really great meetings (even greater for the fact that I didn't have to trek out to Renne for them after all), and back to the hotel for a few precious hours of nap before heading out to a solo dinner at 9 at the fantastic Le Meurice. I will have to tell you all about that meal later--suffice to say now that I really expect Yannick Alleno to have his third star next year--and not just for his looks ;-)

After the dinner I was off to see Adrian and his friend Austen at the best bar in Paris--if not the world--the Hemingway at the Ritz. That little jaunt to the Hemingway was supposed to be for a short little after dinner digestif before heading off to bed, but in the company of the hilarious twosome Adrian and Austen, and in the capable hands of "the Best Bar Man in the World" Collin and his fantastic crew, somehow I managed to stay out until 5.30 in the morning! Good thing today is a saturday!

I'm going off now for a restorative bowl of pho at my favorite Vietnamese dive in Paris--the best cure for far too much food/booze/smoke that I know--all for about 5 euro a pop. And I know I would love it just as much as the Le Meurice dinner last night. Good food is good food, no matter at what price.

Thursday, September 16, 2004

Just arrived about an hour ago. Paris is beautiful today, summer lingers still. I'm about to go outside a bit to get some sun, but not before arranging some dinner plans, of course.

So far I've managed a plan tonight with Maurice and Pierre, at Le Repaire de Cartouche, another old favorite that I haven't been back to in over a year. I also have another plan with Maurice, this time also with Akiko and Marc who are in town this weekend from London.

Keeping my fingers crossed about Gagnaire, I am on la liste d'attente for Sunday--when will I ever learn that trying to book a table chez Pierre Gagnaire three days in advance is NOT a good idea!?! Well, someone has put in a good word for me so hopefully a table will materialize in time...

Tuesday, September 14, 2004

I'm running around like mad today but I have to take a minute to tell you that Louisa's blog is back online. The new name is Movable Feast: Diary of an Itinerant Chef and she is now blogging live from El Bulli.

Yes, that El Bulli. You would be mad not to check it out.

She's staging there until the end of the season, after which she will move on back to Paris to work for Jean-François Piège at Les Ambassadeurs.

I want her life. I so do.

I'm now off to pack, leaving for Paris tomorrow, and then London, and back here in time for my birthday party. I guess my life isn't bad either. I still want hers though. :-)

Monday, September 13, 2004

My friends have been rather worried about the gaping hole in my culinary education. “To hell with L'Arpège”, Malik said, “we are taking you Taco Truck crawling!”

So, the first time was a few weeks ago when my friend David from London was in town. After dropping off yet another friend who had been visiting at Oakland airport, Malik, David and I were on our way to meet the Melkors for a nice day in the wine country, when Malik decided to take a mini detour to give me my very first lesson in the Arts and Sciences of Taco Truck Appreciation.

Thursday, September 09, 2004

It has been far too hot in San Francisco to think about eating anything heavy or even warm, so tonight, after a couple of dinner plans fell through, I decided to make two cold Thai salads for dinner, Yum Pol-mai Goong (Prawns and fruits salad), and Yum Nuea (Spicy Beef Salad).

The first was Yum Pol-mai Goong, which had some jicama, apple, grapes, cherry tomatoes, prawns (lightly cooked, shelled, and devained), cilantro, a small handful of very thinly sliced onion, and chopped birdeye chillies. All these got tossed with a dressing made with fish sauce, lime juice, and a tiny bit of sugar. This dressing should be sour first, then salty and spicy, the sweetness should come mostly from the fruits and not the added sugar.

The second salad was Yum Nuea, made with ribeye steak (grilled or pan fried until medium rare, let cool, then sliced thin), a handful of mint, chopped cilantro, chopped spring onions, thinly sliced shallots, 1 tbsp of ground toasted rice*, and chilli powder, to taste, then tossed with a dressing also made of fish sauce, lime juice, and a tiny bit of sugar. The dressing should be salty first, then spicy, then sour. (*the toasted rice is made by dry roasting some rice in a hot skillet, then ground in a pestle and mortar until fine.)

Served up with some plain sticky rice, and washed down with a bottle of 2002 Christoffel Auslese, and then later a half bottle of 2003 Tempier Bandol Rosé. Just a perfectly cool meal for a hot night in San Francisco.